


Hush - A Handmaiden Story

by AceOfSpace



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Coruscant, Gen, Handmaidens, Handmaidens Represent, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Rotating POV, Secretly Pregnant Padmé, Secrets, The Adventures of Padmé Amidala's Fabulous Girl Squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfSpace/pseuds/AceOfSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something wonderful has happened.</p>
<p>Nobody can know.</p>
<p>-<br/>“Thank you,” Skywalker said softly, “for agreeing to keep this quiet.”</p>
<p>“I’m doing this for her, but you’re welcome.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moteé

Moteé simply assumed that she had ended up in this web of secrecy by accident. It was something she blamed on her concomitant studies at Theed University, where she was in training to become a doctor. That, and the fact that she had a lapse of judgement and opened her big mouth when the Senator had come to her, in confidence, regarding a sensitive medical issue.

It was a day that she remembered clearly, when a thoughtless remark had prompted her to become one of Senator Amidala’s most trusted secret keepers. Padmé had invited her into her home for what she insisted was simply a social meeting, but in contrast, Moteé was fearing the worst. Had her performance been lacking when it came to her duties? Was she about to be sent on a potentially deadly mission come morning? With the amount of assassination threats and attempts that had recently been coming to light, the young brunette could only assume that her turn to play decoy had come, and that she would succumb to a fate similar to that of her dear friend, Cordé. The pain of her loss still lingered despite months having gone by.

“Moteé,” began the Senator, a slight waver in her voice. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but-”

Moteé swallowed nervously. 

“-I think I might be pregnant.”

There was silence. Moteé’s dark eyes widened somewhat, the raise of her brows being the only other noticeable change in her expression. Of all the things that she had expected to leave the Senator’s mouth, this was not one of them. Relieved to know that she wasn’t in trouble, but still worried for her dear friend, the handmaiden reminded herself to take a few deep breaths. She had obviously been contacted for her medical expertise. 

Minutes passed. They discussed factors that led Padmé to come to this decision, the intricacies of her menstrual cycle, and the fact that she had taken a single pregnancy test then left it for precisely three minutes, as per the packaging, before anxiously checking for her result. It was then that Moteé asked a question that was presumably out of line.

“But wait a minute; didn’t you and Clovis call it off?” she asked, her chin tilted inquisitively while her chestnut eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Or did you get back together?”

Padmé must have mulled over the question for quite some time before deciding it was worth confiding in at least one person. After all, if the Senator really was with child, she was going to have to explain the situation anyway once her stomach began expanding. Such a secret could not be easily kept.

“Actually, I recently married,” the former Queen began, her gaze cast sideways, “…someone else.”

It was a good thing that they were both sitting down, for Moteé was overcome by a weakness in her legs, and a strange pang in her stomach. Perhaps it was a bit much to assume she would be invited, but the handmaiden liked to think of herself as a close friend of the Senator’s, since she had essentially put her life on the line for her a few times. Then again, having all of their group in the same place could prove a risky situation.

“It was very small, very private, in the lake country” Padmé assured her friend “It was he and I, and…two droids, as witnesses,” she added, hoping that her company would feel less offended. 

“Oh, okay.” Moteé attempted to sound polite, despite how strange the whole idea seemed to her. She took a sip of the herbal tea that sat in a cup before her, slowly growing cold in the midst of their riveting and scandalous discussion. She pondered the circumstances that had been explained to her. For only droids to bear witness to such a ceremony surely meant something was amiss. The Senator had even failed to invite the likes of her sister, or her dear nieces who surely would have jumped at the chance to be involved in a bridal party. The only conclusion Moteé could come up with that rather than the wedding be a private affair, it was for reasons other than personal preference. She supposed the word that Padmé should have used was ‘secretive’, or perhaps ‘taboo’, or ‘unorthodox’.

“It was the Jedi!” 

The Senator, in the midst of sipping her tea, narrowly avoided spitting out her mouthful upon her lap. 

“When you were being protected, and the assassination risk was at its highest,” the handmaiden continued, as if she was a detective leading an investigation, “Sabé and Cordé were your main decoys, and you were watched over by two Jedi!” Moteé’s mouth dropped open a fraction as she started conjuring mental images of her dear friend eloping by the lakeside. 

“Did you marry General Kenobi?!”

Such an outlandish question seemed to catch Padmé off guard. They exchanged a look in silence for a few seconds.

“Or was it the other one?”

“Mm,” Padmé agreed. “The other one.”

“The younger one with the …” the handmaiden was gesturing to the side of her face, temporarily forgetting the word for ‘braid’ “… What was his name? Starwalker!”

The senator appeared to sink slowly into her chair, her cheeks deepening in colour upon realising that she had been found out, at least for the most part.

“His name is Skywalker,” Padmé subtly corrected, “and I have no idea what I’m supposed to tell him. It’s going to complicate everything.” She cast her eyes to the ground and sighed, somewhat relieved to get such a secret off of her chest “But you mustn’t tell anyone,” she stressed, her voice dropping in volume as if she feared an unwanted listener. “It’s in gross violation of the Jedi Code, and I won’t let Anakin get in trouble because of me.”

Moteé took a moment to process what was happening. In the span of an hour, she had gone from worrying about her own future working alongside the Senator, to worrying only about Padmé, and the complicated situation in which she had landed herself. She was thinking about which medical specialists she could trust with this sensitive knowledge, as well as how to keep her lips sealed when it came to the other handmaidens, not to mention any Jedi with their own suspicions. 

“It’s going to be alright,” Moteé insisted, rising from her seat. “And your secret will be safe with me, but first, I’m buying you more tests. One is never enough,” she added matter-of-factly. “I’ll be back before nightfall, and then we can discuss your options.”

It turned out to be a false positive in the end. The chemicals in the pregnancy test had expired before it was purchased, leading to an unreliable result. A further three tests proved that Padmé was, in fact, not pregnant. However, despite this, Moteé still had a promise to keep, and Senator Amidala’s complete trust regarding the matter. Any and all information regarding Padmé's marriage still needed to remain hidden at all costs. In time, Moteé became a messenger of sorts when it came to the couple’s communication, and in the three years that passed, not a word on the topic slipped free from her lips and into the public’s knowledge. Although, the situation soon presented itself once more. Padmé invited her dear friend over for a brew of the same herbal tea and announced, her voice less rattled with nerves on this occasion, that she was pregnant, for sure this time. Luckily for the Senator, her trusty handmaiden had since become an expert on smoke and mirrors, and not to mention secret keeping. She was most certainly ready for the challenge.


	2. Rabé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of vomiting and alcohol. Happy reading!

Her hands were starting to cramp, but she persisted without complaint. Her fatiguing fingers were moving as if they had minds of their own, determined to bring her vision to reality, as if the galaxy’s fate depended on it. Her eyes were fixed on thick and equally sized brunette locks as they were twisted in and around each other, every curve integral to the look of the finished masterpiece. It would all be worth it in the end; of that, Rabé was certain. Despite, annoyingly, having to restart one of the waist length braids three times, she was still on schedule to be finished in time for the gala that evening. After all, such was life as Senator Padmé Amidala’s handmaiden and personal hairstylist, where it was second nature to expect the unexpected. Rabé could only hope that she didn’t fall victim to whatever sort of food poisoning that had the Senator running to and from the ‘fresher. How she managed to get through an entire day of work was beyond her, but thankfully, Padmé was able to get a spot of the rest she so deserved now that business hours were over.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright for tonight?” she asked, concerned.

“Yes. Yes,” Padmé insisted, returning to her seat. “I’m fine. You worry too much.” The Senator shuffled backwards and straightened her neck, giving Rabé the impression that she could continue styling once more. The left side of her head was adorned with an intricately crafted fishtail braid, while the right was dishevelled, to say the least. The beginnings of a second braid could be seen at the top of her head, but the Senator had done a good job of letting it unravel as she heaved and retched after her last abrupt departure, her body undoubtedly shaking. Rabé could only wonder if her friend really thought she was being discreet.

“I don’t know. I think I’m worrying with good reason, this time,” she continued as she took bunches of hair into her grasp. “That was the third time you’ve been sick, and I don’t think that-”

“It’s alright,” Padmé assured her, a little more sternly this time.

“I mean, I still have time to prep Sabé if you’re not-”

“I said I’m _fine!_ ”

Padmé’s sudden outburst had the handmaiden caught off guard, causing her to jump and let go of the hair in her grasp. She couldn’t fathom what she had done wrong, and how she could have been so offensive by accident. Like her tight-knit group of colleagues, Rabé was prepared to die for the Senator, and she’d had a close bond with her ever since they met as girls. She thought the former Queen would understand her instinctive need to protect her, whether it be from trained assassins or a stomach bug.  
Rabé regained her poise and held her tongue. She supposed that the Senator’s annoyance was justified. She had, after all, been having her hair styled for almost two hours so far, given that her deep brown tresses needed to be ironed straight before braiding.

“I’ll get you some water, my lady,” she murmured before gaining some distance from Padmé, who she assumed to be fairly dehydrated, especially since she didn’t object to the offer. A minute later, the hairstylist returned and placed the glass on a coaster in front of her, not daring to make another comment about Padmé’s wellbeing. There was silence for some time after that, enabling Rabé to make some progress while the Senator checked her emails and worked on her schedule for the upcoming week. It was a much welcomed peace, and for each minute it lasted, the handmaiden was counting her blessings.

She felt a large sense of accomplishment once both braids were finished, the ends secured with elastic bands. Once she got to the stage of pulling out tiny strands from the bunches and fraying them with her narrow-toothed comb, it didn’t matter so much if the Senator had yet another overwhelming urge to hurl. At least no progress would be lost. Rabé was surprised by just how much she’d been able to achieve since the last unexpected pause, and she was even starting to think that the other woman was feeling better. A tiny smile bloomed from her lips; she liked to think that her water made all the difference.

It wasn’t long after that she was proved wrong in her optimism. The Senator rose with her chair without as much as a warning, the urgency in her swift movements catching Rabé by surprise. She stood in shocked silence, her mouth ajar as she watched her dear friend frantically stumble towards the ‘fresher, this time knocking her oversized handbag on its side in the process. Figuring that tidying up would help the ill woman feel less stressed, Rabé quickly sought to pack away the items that had spilled onto the floor. It would distract her from the heartbreaking sounds of Padmé being sick, and the urge to comfort her, despite the Senator insisting that she didn’t need anyone holding her hair. Rabé was still questioning that choice of words, given what they were doing.

On her hands and knees, the handmaiden carefully placed each item into the bag from which it fell. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken. It was only a mild bump, after all. Rabé tried to arrange everything as neatly as possible, not knowing how the items were placed before. She replaced the lid on the travel-sized perfume bottle, tucked the compact mirror into a small pouch against the bag’s lining, checked that none of the pages of the pregnancy book had creased-

Rabé froze.

She stuffed the book into the bag as quickly as she could muster before placing it upright and retreating to behind Padmé’s chair. She could feel herself become nauseated, the feeling of perhaps knowing too much dominating her mental space. Things were beginning to make sense now, she thought. This was no virus, but morning sickness. The Senator was pregnant, and knew it, but she wasn’t at the point where she felt comfortable to tell other people. Then again, Rabé wouldn’t have thought it surprising if it was kept quiet for as long as possible. She hadn’t the first idea as to who the father could be, and she’d known the other woman for almost half of her life. Perhaps it was a book for a friend of hers, or it was one of Moteé’s to study, and she’d left it behind. She could not be certain of the truth.

By the time the ‘fresher door reopened and the Senator had reappeared, Rabé had decided that she was going to pretend that nothing had happened, and that she still wholeheartedly believed that Padmé had a nasty case of stomach flu. 

“More water, my lady?” she asked,

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

The Senator’s trips to and from the ‘fresher became less frequent as the afternoon went on, and Rabé knew better than to pry with questions about her condition. Instead, she tried to do her best styling work in as little time as possible, fraying precise sections of hair before eventually twisting both braids into a complicated looking up-do, one of which she was proud. She could feel the relaxation in Padmé’s posture after she announced its completion. Rabé held a mirror in front of her, allowing the other woman to see the results of her work, after which they were both smiling. The hours of work had paid off indeed. 

“I trust you won’t need any assistance in putting your outfit together,” Rabé started, knowing very well at this point that the Senator wasn’t seeking any kind of assistance today. As to whether it was due to her mood, or the effort to hide a blossoming baby bump, she didn’t know. “I think you’ll be the belle of the ball, but you always are.”

“You’re too kind to me,” said a bashful Padmé after rising from her chair, “even when I’m not feeling like myself. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, my lady,” she insisted, pleasantly surprised by how generous the Senator was being. Rabé figured that she was the one at fault, and should have been less nosy from the beginning. However, it didn’t stop her from asking her next question, one that could potentially help with her suspicions.

“Also, I know the Festival of Light is some time away, but you know I can’t help but get carried away sometimes when it comes to fashion. I was dabbling with the idea of putting you in something with an empire waistline,” Rabé suggested, moving her hands about as she spoke “What do you think?”

She could see the focus in the Senator’s eyes, as if she was imagining how she would look by the time the festival took place. The serious expression was only visible for moments, before being replaced with a pleased grin.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” answered Padmé with a slight nod. “I do like that a lot.”

“Then it’s settled!” Rabé gleefully replied. “I just thought I haven’t seen you in that style for some time. It’d look nice.” She imagined it would do a good job of covering a heavily pregnant belly as well, but kept that opinion quiet. Being in favour of such a waistline didn’t guarantee that a woman was pregnant. The handmaiden sauntered across the room and retrieved a tall, thin bottle made from blue glass; a bottle of _Domaine de la Maison sur de Lac_ , a favourite wine of the Senator’s. She placed two drinking glasses in front of her and twisted the bottle open with a popping sound of the cork.

“I got this for my birthday, but I thought you might want to share with me,” Rabé suggested innocently enough. “I know how much you like it, and besides,” she added with a shrug, “you’ve been stressed.”

Padmé held up a hand in protest. “Thank you, but I’ll have to decline.”

She was met with a curiously raised eyebrow.

“I don’t want to lose track of time,” was the Senator’s defence, “and I don’t have much left to rest given my…stomach. It’s probably best that I get ready.” She cast an apologetic smile before bidding her handmaiden farewell and retreating to change into her elaborate gala outfit.

Rabé, meanwhile, took her refusal as a third semi-confirmation of her pregnancy. As excited as she was to learn some new gossip, she still felt upset about the fact that she hadn’t been informed beforehand. She liked to think that if anything big happened in her life, Padmé would be among the first with whom she’d share it. Pouring a single glass of wine for herself since the bottle was open, she quickly glanced upwards and saw Moteé passing the doorway, her head surprisingly not buried in a book, like it had often been of late.

“Hey, almost-Doctor Moteé!” the hairstylist called, brandishing an empty wine glass, “Study break?” 

Her friend stopped in her steps and looked inside, shrugging before ultimately joining her.

“I’m finally opening the birthday wine. Here.” Rabé filled both glasses with the brew and then gently ushered one towards her friend.

“What’s the occasion?” Moteé asked.

“No occasion,” the stylist replied, although the look on her face suggested that she could use a drink to calm her thoughts. “Unless you had something to celebrate...?”

“The weekend,” Moteé suggested, her tired smile hinting that she was definitely in the mood for some relaxation.

“To the weekend!”

The two glasses were tapped together, and the handmaidens took a drink. Rabé could feel her paranoia begin to fade as soon as the sweet wine touched her lips.

An hour passed. The Senator had just departed to make her gala appearance, accompanied by Dormé. Moteé had been animated in conversation, sharing stories about university life and her hopes for her future. Rabé, however, was on her fourth glass of wine, and had grown rather quiet over the last fifteen minutes or so. As much as she thought it beneficial at first, it seemed that the wine was making her overthink about her afternoon with Padmé, rather than calmly dismiss the situation.

“…and so the second kid says,” Moteé continued, giving a slight laugh, “‘Oh wow! I had that done right after I was born, and I couldn’t walk for a year!’” The joke wasn’t entirely funny, but the fact that both girls were tipsy had them both laughing more than they normally would. Moteé’s cheesy medical school jokes had been proving to be one hit after another, and it was something that could only be blamed on the wine.

Rabé’s dark eyes lit up for the first time in a while, for she was reminded of something she wished to ask. Her thoughts drifted to the pregnancy book she had seen earlier, and that unless it really did belong to the Senator, it likely belonged to Moteé. She thought it best to raise the topic now, in case she forgot by the time morning.

“Hey, that reminds me,” a wide-eyed Rabé began, “you haven’t lost any pregnancy textbooks lately, have you?”

Moteé narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What?”

“I saw Padmé with one earlier today,” she explained. “I mean, I saw it by accident, but if it was hers and she was pregnant, she’d tell us, right?” The crestfallen expression on Rabé’s face was hard to ignore, as was the meekness of her voice. “That’s why I thought it might be yours. She might return it to you soon…just so you know.”

“Oh, it’s not mine.” A slightly intoxicated Moteé let her lack of inhibitions get the better of her, and she answered rather quickly. She immediately looked away, bringing one hand to the back of her neck. “But you’re right,” she continued, “if it really did belong to Padmé, I’m sure she would tell you. You’re very important to her. Honestly, I think it could belong to anyone, like her sister, or another friend of hers.” She took another sip from her wine glass, giving Rabé the opportunity to better process her words.

“You’re right,” she eventually agreed. “I was probably just getting ahead of myself.”

Still, she thought about the coincidental timing of the Senator’s ‘stomach bug’, and her overwhelming support of belly-hiding waistlines for the new season, and couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss. Deep down however, Rabé knew that her friend had to be right. The bond that the group of women shared made them all like sisters in a way. It was strong enough to the point where they’d share anything, and move heaven and earth to protect each other, or so she thought. The point for Padmé to break the news to her would come in time, and of that she was certain.

Until then, she would respect her wishes and wait patiently until she did, even if it meant being met with less than honesty in the meantime. Rabé was able to sleep reasonably well that night, with the wine to thank, but she still hurt a little when she wondered if she was truly trusted by the woman for whom she’d lay down her life. Then again, it didn’t matter so much in the grand scheme of things. Ever since they were girls, Padmé’s wellbeing and happiness was paramount no matter what, and that was what mattered most.


	3. Sabé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a while since my last update, but this chapter is extra long to make up for it!

Sabé liked to play dress-up when she was a girl. She liked to don outfit after marvellous outfit, and become anyone and everyone in the galaxy. She fashioned creations from blankets and tablecloths, from her mother’s old trinkets, and forgot about common life for a while. After all, the realms of her imagination were far more exciting. Little Sabé played the rugged pirate, the skilled martial artist, leaving a path of destruction in the form of shattered vases and fluttering papers. She sought wonder in life on other planets, shaped lekku from old clothes and wiry coat hangers, and insisted that she was Twi’leki for days on end. She imagined herself as the Queen of a vast civilisation, revered and idolised by great hordes of people while she bettered society and looked incredibly glamorous while doing so. The girl had a great amount of adventures in her youth, all from which she returned home safe, able to run into her mother’s loving embrace and be tucked into bed without a care.

Sabé played dress-up for a career now. It wasn’t quite as wondrous as she thought it would be.

Impersonating the Queen of Naboo came with its perks, of course. Thousands of girls swooned at the thought of leading her lifestyle, with the extravagant dress and the lavish feasts and galas that she attended. She was thankful to experience that luxury. Through her job, Sabé had the opportunity to broaden her mind when it came to politics. Extensive martial arts training meant that she was a weapon in her own right. But aside from that, and most importantly, she learned to become one of the greatest mimics the galaxy had ever seen.

From adolescence, she was groomed to blossom not into herself, but into a carbon copy of Padmé Amidala. She mastered her posture, her movements, and the way she spoke. She would stare at the Queen as she ate, fixated on the way she held her cutlery, and the way she tried to hide a grimace when faced with a food she disliked. They applied their makeup together. They had identical handwriting. They communicated without needing words, but with their eyes, and a sign language they’d created together. Padmé’s quirks were Sabé’s quirks, to the point where their mothers had trouble telling them apart. She and the Queen were one and the same, bound like sisters; like kindred souls. One day, or so it was destined, Sabé would die for her. It was something that she’d been made aware of thirteen years ago.

However, it seemed that of late, Senator Amidala was taking more matters into her own hands, taking off to unknown locations for dangerous missions, and leaving Sabé to stand in her place. It was something that caused her great worry, and left her with unfathomable guilt. After all, she was meant to be the protector. She was the one psychologically programmed to do anything for the Queen. Although never doubting Padmé’s exceptional negotiation and combat skills, Sabé felt rather useless as she spent the day in the senate building, elaborately disguised. She filed through paperwork and answered the occasional phone call, effortlessly hiding the fact that her mind was wrought with anxiety. She was reading through a stellar address that the Senator had prepared for the following morning when a buzzing intercom snatched her from her train of thought.

“Anakin Skywalker to see Padmé Amidala,” said a confident voice, muffled through the speaker.

Her first guest of the day. At least, he was her first unexpected one. Sabé could only wonder what an impromptu visit from a Jedi Knight would entail. Surely it would be quite exciting, she thought, at least enough to distract her from the fact that Padmé was likely in danger.

She laid her finger on a button beside her and the doors to the office were opened.

Anakin Skywalker had a reputation that preceded him, and he was known by many as a man who possessed great talent and ambition. He had been known to take more risks than most, and to deviate from the norm when it came to decision making, driving many of his superiors mad with frustration. However, such a reputation wasn’t something Sabé knew too well, and she was surprised to see the tall young man in front of her, visibly quite different to the few Jedi she had seen in her youth. The most notable variance was the amount of black leather incorporated into his robes.

She cast her gaze towards the Jedi and began to interpret his stance and body language, believing that she could at least gauge a good idea as to what had brought him to the senate. Whatever business it was, thought Sabé, it had to be urgent. Skywalker’s blue eyes were hooded to the point where she wondered if he’d neglected sleep in favour of this visit. The playful energy from his intercom message contrasted greatly from the exhaustion that showed in his posture, but there was the slightest hint of a grateful smile on his face. He didn’t have bad news. Sabé was almost sure of that, and it gave her some relief to last a while.

“Good morning,” she casually greeted him, glancing upwards from behind her computer screen. “What business brings you here today, General Skywalker?”

She heard a snicker come from his direction.

“No business, my lady,” he mused in response, his eyes narrowing as a cheeky grin spread further across his lips. “Just pleasure.”

Sabé didn’t know how to process his answer, let alone continue their conversation in a way that was so effortlessly Padmé.

“It’s good to see you,” she informed him before smiling warmly, hoping that her sentiment was appropriate for the situation. Apparently, he hadn’t stopped by for anything important, given his vocal tone and choice of words. Sabé wondered if she was simply in for a few minutes of reconnaissance chatter over herbal tea. Of course, Skywalker could have been using sarcasm, meaning that they were surely in a world of trouble, but she didn’t know if he was the type to speak such a way. She knew hardly anything about him at all, yet she felt that he knew the Senator quite well. To Sabé, it was certainly a foreign concept.

Arms folded as the Jedi was getting impatient, although not visibly angry. He appeared more like a child who was waiting for a candy shop to open, his eyes flickering from Sabé in the Senator’s desk chair, to the ground, then to Sabé once more.

“So, we’re alone,” he stated the obvious after scoping the room. “Where’s my proper hello?”

He was expecting something, but as to what that was, she hadn’t the slightest idea. Being uncertain about so many things in such a short time was making Sabé uncomfortable. Obviously Senator Amidala knew quite well as to what constituted a ‘proper hello’, but the handmaiden was left in the dark, so to speak. She tentatively rose from her seat, her aubergine, empire-waisted gown draping heavily towards the floor, and advanced towards Skywalker, hoping a little more than usual this time that her disguise as the Senator would remain foolproof.

Before she was able to extend a hand or utter a single word, the Jedi bounded towards her with a fierce urgency, his arms reaching outwards as he grew closer. The last thing Sabé expected was to be hoisted off the ground in a near bone-crushing embrace, her toes only touching the plush carpet if she stretched. At first, she held onto him in fear of falling, but after mulling over the subject for a few seconds, it became apparent that such was Padmé’s usual behaviour, and therefore, it would be hers. She let him lower her to her feet and bury her face into his leather-scented chest, while she attempted to match his suffocating grip around his waist, but failed miserably. She felt his breathing slow as he traced his fingers through her hair and muttered something indecipherable, and as strange as the whole situation felt, Sabé felt it was necessary. It was obvious now that he and the Senator were close.

Sabé stepped backwards once she was freed, and managed not to brush her hands over her ribs; she didn’t want to make a big deal of the dull ache that radiated from her sides. After all, the Senator surely wouldn’t do that. She was probably much more used to these kinds of ‘greetings’, thought Sabé as she looked up at the Jedi once more, his smile thin and meek, though he stared at her intently.

“You seem a little … _startled,_ ” mused Skywalker. “I bet you weren't expecting to see me here so early.”

She took note of the smugness in his expression, her head shaking slowly as she wondered what kind of joy he was getting from confusing her. As he took yet another step towards her, Sabé refrained from moving away, as much as she felt that the space between them was becoming far too little for her liking. Still, she was getting the feeling that this was normal for Padmé, and so she tried to stop herself from questioning it in her mind. The Jedi showed zero hesitation in any of his actions so far, and she could only attribute it to the inflated self-esteem she presumed he had, or the possibility that he and the Senator had met like this dozens of times before. She didn’t ponder the second scenario for too long however, mainly because it meant that she didn’t know as much about her dear friend as she should have. It irked her.

“No,” she eventually responded, peering upwards to meet Skywalker’s gaze. “You definitely caught me by surprise... What happened?” Her head tilted to one side, so as to express curiosity.

She had decided to treat him more like a friend based on their interactions so far. Still, there was a certain intensity in the way he looked at her, such to the point where she found it almost confronting, and it had her wondering if her assumption was correct. 

“The mission finished ahead of schedule, thanks to yours truly,” he proudly informed her while raising an eyebrow. “Although, you helped.”

Sabé had no idea what he was referring to, but decided it was best to play along.

“How so?”

“You know how,” teased the Jedi, his voice lowering to a suggestive murmur. A quiet chuckle escaped from his lips, showing that as tired as he obviously appeared, he was relaxed. “You're the reason I work as hard as I do,” he answered matter-of-factly. “There's no better motivation than the thought of coming home to you, my angel.”

She saw his left arm move from the corner of her eye, giving her a moment to anticipate the cool touch of his knuckles brushing against her cheek. He was so close to her now, to the point where she could feel his warm breath on her face. Sabé had not been trained for this kind of situation, and she was desperately trying to hide the fact that her pulse was racing with worry. Still, she knew that she would prove herself capable, such as always. It was why Padmé trusted her as much as she did. With a one hundred percent success rate of fooling those who crossed her path, Sabé was a paragon of disguise. The act had to continue, regardless of how surprised she was about the Senator’s apparent fling. If she was still buzzing with curiosity by the time he left, she could ask Padmé about it later, and hope that she’d share the truth with her. It seemed likely that she would; after all, they had always shared everything with each other.

“Hmm, _someone’s_ in a good mood,” commented Sabé with a smile. “All this flattery! I’m not complaining, by the way. Wait, where are you going?” She watched him pass her and move to a set of cupboards on the far side of the office.

“I’m thirsty,” he playfully called back, not bothering to stop on his way to the kitchenette. “I’ll get you something too, don’t worry. I know you’ve got a lot of work to do.” A laugh came from his direction. “Besides, you’ll have to get used to me waiting on you more, later on.”

She took this as an opportunity to retreat to the familiarity of the Senator’s desk chair, where she could pretend to engage in work while secretly eyeing Skywalker from across the room. Her gaze was fixated on him as he swung open two white cupboard doors, then retrieved an ornate metal box that contained dried tea leaves. Her head raised from behind her screen as she took note of the peppermint tea container cupped in his hands. It wasn’t Padmé’s favourite, although it was stored just where he’d reached not too long ago.

“By the way, I rearranged everything-”

“I know,” the Jedi assured her, “You said that last time I was here.”

He appeared to know his way around the office quite well, including where the kettle was located, and how the silverware drawer needed to be tugged extra hard so it would open. It was becoming clear that he was a more frequent visitor than Sabé had once assumed.

She watched with intrigue as he made himself at home, coming across as more relaxed and human than what she had expected. From what Sabé knew of the Jedi, they were peacekeepers, usually devoid of emotion, and keeping a well-mannered persona at all times to maintain their image. 

Still, she couldn’t help but notice the way the man before her seemed to haphazardly toss teaspoons aside, then suggesting that he might clean after himself later. His speech was more casual than deliberately well-mannered, his words slightly rushed with enthusiasm. Apparently, he had been reading about peppermint tea, and Sabé watched on with intrigue as he elaborated, although she wasn’t sure as to which condition the brew would supposedly ‘help’ with, seeing as both she and the Senator were perfectly healthy.

She gave a slight nod when he mentioned stomach cramps and nausea. Rabé had mentioned that there might be a stomach flu making its way through the senate. It was when Skywalker mentioned the symptoms possibly lasting ‘the whole nine months’ that the bodyguard started thinking that perhaps something was strange. It wasn’t long after that she was met with a steaming hot cup of peppermint tea, tendrils of steam dancing towards her nostrils and warming her up from the inside. Sabé noticed the Jedi’s looming presence behind her before he placed his hands on her shoulders, and then started to knead her upper back with his thumbs.

For about a minute, it was peaceful. He asked what she thought of the tea. She replied that it was splendid, and that she was feeling better already, despite not knowing which symptoms plagued the Senator at present. She took a few deep breaths as the muscles in her shoulders and back were prodded and poked, all while she was told that she was ‘tense’, and ‘worked herself too hard’.

Then, just as quickly as he had warmed to her when he entered, everything stopped. His hands lifted, and he stepped to one side. Blue eyes narrowed as he studied her face most critically. Any hint of Skywalker’s previous good mood disappeared quickly as his relaxed smile faded into an expression of skepticism, his brow lowering to accentuate frown lines.

She could feel herself being read, a constant a relentless pull tugging at the most detailed intricacies of her façade. It was as if her mind was being invaded, and he was able to look through her disguise that was over thirteen years in the making. As much as she hoped to the stars that she hadn’t been caught, she was slowly but surely losing faith.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sabé answered a little too quickly.

The Jedi looked away and sighed before turning back to face her, exasperated. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, but I’ll ask nicely one more time. Where is Padmé?”

Upon hearing his response, Sabé felt sick to her stomach. Was this what failure felt like? If it was so, she despised it, and hoped never to feel it again. It was as if all of the guilt and disappointment in herself manifested into a tangible being, pushing harshly at the walls of her gut, and making her want to be physically ill. She dwelled on her actions in the minutes gone by, wondering as to just what she had done wrong to give herself away. Perhaps she wasn’t quite graceful enough as she stood, thought Sabé, or it could have been that the anxiety that plagued her brain was making her speech seem cold and distant. The Senator’s more frequent self-assignments to dangerous missions were taking a toll on her wellbeing. After all, Padmé had been an integral part of her life since she was a young girl, and the thought of losing her, of failing to protect her, was a thought too much to bear. She blinked and glanced towards her feet, so as to avoid Skywalker’s accusing glare for a moment. He assumed she knew all that was going on, and she truly wished that he was right.

“...I don’t know,” her response was weaker this time.

“ _Tell me!_ ”

Sabé was taken aback by just how quickly he had changed. She stepped backwards as she tried to process the fact that, for the first time, she was doing rather poorly in her mission to protect the Senator. Her once foolproof disguise was all but in shambles, and it appeared that she was facing serious consequences if she didn’t reveal the information which she, unfortunately, did not have. A gloved hand was raised fiercely towards her, outstretched fingers pointed towards her chin. She took a sharp breath inwards, expecting him to strike, but the Jedi remained still, aside from a slight turn of his wrist.

“You will tell me where Padmé is.”

Sabé felt something stir inside her head, like an itch that she couldn’t quite reach. She stared down Skywalker and cocked an eyebrow, as if to silently ask him what in the world he was doing. He could demand that she tell him where the Senator was over and over again, but it wouldn’t change the fact that she had no idea of her location, or the circumstances surrounding her departure.

“You _will_ tell me where Padme is,” he commanded once more. His wrist rotated in the same way, and his gaze refused to falter.

Sabé breathed in and out through gritted teeth, the twinge in her head coming to the forefront of her mind once more. She cast it aside, focusing more on the matter at hand; that this exchange was going to reach a stalemate unless she did something proactive, and soon.

“I _told_ you, I don’t know!” She was on the verge of shouting, but conscientious of the fact that the walls of the senate building were only so thick. The last thing she wanted was to create a scene, and have more people take notice of her failed attempt as a doppelganger.

The hand remained outstretched towards her for a few more moments before faltering.

“ _Useless,_ ” he growled, turning away from Sabé in frustration. “I don’t have time for this. Bring me Moteé.”

The handmaiden merely tilted her head, perplexed, wondering what in the galaxy Anakin Skywalker would want to do with Moteé, and how he knew her on a first name basis.

“She can’t help you,” insisted Sabé, mustering all the ability she could to keep her voice from wavering, “I’m the only one who knows that the Senator has gone, but even she wouldn’t disclose to me her location. She should return in the evening, assuming that she …” she paused, not wanting to consider the worst possible scenario for the moment, “... assuming that there are no delays.” Her eyes focused on Skywalker more intently as she tried to process his stance once more, hoping that her answer was sufficient. Then again, if their roles had been reversed, she would not have been satisfied with such an answer. She would have needed to know that everything would be on schedule, and that Padmé would be returning home safely. She would not be trusting anyone else’s word but her own.

She took note of how the Jedi was becoming distant, his great stature diminished as he hunched. He had entered practically radiating confidence and joy, but upon coming to terms with Sabé’s disguise, it was easier for her to notice that he was riddled with fear. It made sense. After all, it didn’t take a genius to see how thrilled he was to see her at first. He was talkative and optimistic, as if the wartime was all a figment of their imaginations. Now that the Senator’s whereabouts and safety were unclear, they were both victims of unyielding concern, something she could use to her advantage to keep him from succumbing to violence.

“If it helps, I’m just as worried as you are,” Sabé added. “I love her, too.”

That proved enough to get the Jedi’s attention.

“Don’t look at me like that!” There was a knowing smirk on her face. “I’ve only been studying body language for half of my life. I wouldn’t take it personally.” Her expression softened after that remark. “I know what a person looks like when they’re afraid of losing something, or someone, because they’re attached to them.” Her intention wasn’t to make fun. If anything, it was nice to come across someone who cared for the Senator as much as she did, and could possibly understand just how she’d been feeling of late.

“I wish I could put you out of your misery and find her; really, I do,” Sabé assured the Jedi with a sincere nod. “I wish I could properly fulfill my duty to her, take her place and bring her here, where more people can look out for her, especially if she’s…” The handmaiden was still coming to terms with the events that had just unfolded, of Anakin Skywalker’s involvement with Padmé, of the real meaning of her recurrent stomach flu.

“If she’s pregnant like you’ve insinuated she is, she needs to be taken out of battle immediately.”

“What makes you so sure she’s pregnant?” His blue eyes were wide with panic.

Sabé let out a sigh. “Relax. I’m not going to tell anyone. The fact I didn’t already know means it’s a most confidential matter. For her to keep a secret like you from me means that you’re very special, and she wants to keep you safe.” Her lips stretched into a weak smile. “She must love you very much. I hope that helps you sleep tonight.” 

She watched him intently as he turned his head to the left, his gaze falling on the window which so beautifully showcased the vast landscape of Coruscant. It was an intriguing sight, especially during the daytime, when so much of the city was visible. Seconds passed and Sabé grew increasingly concerned, wondering as to why Skywalker wasn’t continuing their conversation, and why he was watching the bustling traffic outside with glazed eyes, as if he was caught in the middle of a daydream.

“She kept me from you?” he eventually asked, his facial features beginning to relax once more; his expression almost resembled what Sabé would call a smile.

“Completely, and we usually share everything. Hold on,” she addressed the Jedi with a raised index finger before focusing her attention on a small communication device, previously concealed in a thick and embellished bangle.

“Ready,” she spoke into the device, her voice deep and her appearance serious. However, this didn’t persist for long as the exchange continued. 

“My lady!” she called out in surprise. “I’m glad it went well, and that you’re alright.” She could feel Skywalker’s eyes on her once more.

“Of course, of course…” She complied with each of the Senator’s requests. She was informed of Padmé’s whereabouts, and given a set of instructions to obey following her return to the building. Her focus shifted back and forth between her communications device and the Jedi before her, who seemed to radiate desperation and longing as he tried to interpret what was being fed through her tiny earpiece.

“I just have one more question,” Sabé added, hoping that the Senator wouldn’t finish the conversation abruptly. “I received correspondence from General Skywalker advising that he’d be on Coruscant shortly. He wishes to seek counsel with you. Shall I send him to you directly?” The handmaiden looked upwards to meet his wide-eyed stare and smiled. “Certainly, my lady. I’ll speak with you later.”

After a brief fiddle with her bangle, the conversation was over. No longer interested in keeping up much of an act, Sabé let the relieved expression on her face shine through. Her posture was slightly more relaxed, and her rapid pulse began to slow. She wasn’t feeling sick anymore, nor was her mind rampant with terrible thoughts. Her dearest friend was safe, at least for now. 

“I have good news,” she said. “The Senator didn’t say it explicitly, but she would be delighted to see you. It looks like her mission finished ahead of schedule, too.” She went on to give Skywalker a summary of their conversation, outlining Padmé’s plans for the day, and the ideal time and place for the two of them to meet. “I’d suggest getting a bite to eat or something, then making your way back to the building in the afternoon. She and I will need time to swap roles before your return.”

“Thank you,” he then paused as if was searching for a word or a gesture, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“It’s probably better this way, given that none of this conversation ever happened.”

“What conversation?”

“Exactly.”

It seemed that the Jedi took her comment as a dismissal, for he had quickly turned his back and was making his way towards the door.

“Anakin, wait!” she called out impulsively, not taking a moment to process the use of his first name.

He turned to meet her with a raised brow.

“Before you leave, I need to know...how did you know who I was?” Her tone was meek with shame. “In all my years as my lady’s faithful decoy, not once have I failed her like this. I need to know what I did wrong.” She pursed her lips and tilted her chin downwards, in anticipation of the harsh criticism that was likely to come her way.

There was a pause. Sabé closed her eyes for a moment.

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “You were brilliant.”

She looked up at him once more. It didn’t make any sense. Surely if she had been as brilliant as he said she was, she still would have been talking to him under the guise of Senator Amidala, not as the incompetent, unworthy handmaiden she thought herself to be. She wanted to tell him to wash his mouth out with soap, for if anything, she was the complete and total opposite of the word “brilliant”.

“In terms of your presence, you and Padmé are identical. There’s nothing more you could have done,” he assured her.

Sabé didn’t view that as an acceptable answer. 

“Then how did-” 

“The Force is strong with my child,” Skywalker interrupted her, “and I couldn’t sense her with you.”

Her dark eyes lit up with excitement. “A little girl?” She could already envision the child, likely as intelligent and well-spoken as her mother. 

“I think so, but Padmé’s been saying it’s a boy based on her ‘motherly instinct’,” he mused, the smile on his face infectious. “We decided to let it be a surprise. Either way, I’ll be thrilled. I can’t wait to be a father.” 

“If you’re as protective of your child as you are of the Senator, I’m sure you’d make a very good one.”

“I hope so.”

They grinned at each other for a few moments, before Sabé eventually broke contact and looked out the window. She could only imagine that the Senator would be an excellent mother as well. She had the kindest disposition, but was also never afraid to lay down the law. To be raised by her would be a privilege, she thought. 

“Although I’ll have you know, General Skywalker, that if I ever find out that you hurt Padmé, I will make it my personal mission to hunt you down and _destroy_ you. Are we clear?” 

“You have nothing to worry about,” he insisted. “I would rather die than cause her pain.”

“You and I both,” replied Sabé. She looked up at him with a thin smile. Anakin Skywalker had her blessing, for now, although she needed him to know that her opinion on him would always be subject to change. 

Part of her wanted Skywalker to leave as soon as possible, simply so that she could recuperate from being hit with so many bombshells at once. Her best friend had been hiding a relationship from her for who knows how long, and she was pregnant the child of a war general, who also happened to be a Jedi. Sabé wished that she could discuss the matters with the Senator, and see if there was a way for her to help, but she knew it was inappropriate to do so. Anything that Senator Amidala kept private, was always kept so for a purpose. There was a reason that none of this information could get out, and if she had to pretend that even she didn’t know what was going on, she figured that it was for the best.

“Now go.” She glanced towards the office doors, as if to usher him out. “She’ll be waiting for you soon.” 

The Jedi bounded towards the door, a hint of the spring in his step returning. However, he hesitated before reaching for the handle, instead turning back to face the handmaiden one last time.

“Thank you again,” he said softly, “for agreeing to keep this quiet.”

“I’m doing this for her, but you’re welcome,” she told him sternly, then became more relaxed. “Take care of yourself, General Skywalker. Get some rest.”

“You too,” he replied. “I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said you were tense.”

He disappeared after that.

Sabé let out an audible sigh after the heavy door clicked shut. She needed to sit down, but first brought herself to the kitchenette where Skywalker had been previously, pushing his untouched mess to one side. When she was stressed after a day of impersonation, the handmaiden typically found the calming effects of tea to be helpful. However, she wasn’t sure if that would be enough to adequately relax her today.

After hesitating for a minute, Sabé left the counter behind, instead meandering back to the Senator’s desk and slouching into the padded desk chair. After pressing a few buttons on her communication device, she was able to get the attention of one of her close colleagues, another whom she’d known since girlhood.

“Rabé.” She didn’t bother with formalities. “It’s me.”

“My lady?” came Rabé’s voice into her earpiece.

“No, Sabé. Odd question, I know, but do you still have that expensive wine from your birthday?”

She was met with laughter. “No! Moteé and I split that weeks ago!”

“ _Kriff,_ ” she murmured under her breath before clearing her throat, “Anyway, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come by my quarters tonight for take out and movies. I need some downtime, and I feel like making a food baby.” She grinned at the use of the term.

“Of course! Can I invite Eirtaé?” 

“Yeah, for sure. Anyway, gotta go. Talk later.” 

Sabé ceased communications and took another deep breath. The thought of relaxation later was promising, and she felt it enough to last her through the rest of the afternoon. She only had a short time remaining until she’d be relieved by the Senator once more. Until then, she had to regain her composure, and keep it known to nobody that her façade had temporarily slipped. It was an exceptional situation that would not befall her again, she told herself. After all, she was one of the greatest mimics in the galaxy, and it was a title she would defend fiercely until the day she died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Also, for my fellow handmaiden fans, be sure to check out handmaidensofnaboo.tumblr.com. Hush got a surprise shoutout there, and it's a great hub for all sorts of handmaiden content! Til next time! xo


	4. Eirtaé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this chapter up by the end of the month, but I'm still waiting for it to be fully looked over by my beta, so if it seems a little rough, that'd be why! I've just been itching to get this chapter up for a while now. Enjoy!

Eirtaé looked at the abandoned living room and wondered where in the galaxy she was meant to begin. She had spent the longest time in service to the former Queen of Naboo, but most of her time had been spent doing other things rather than tidying her private living quarters. After all, she had been recognised early on for her political expertise, her communication skills, and ability to maintain a straight face under pressure. She had been raised by a wealthy family with staff herself, and as a result, housework had never been her strong suit. No, her key duties were to discuss political tactics with the Senator, proofread speeches, and act as her sounding board, much like how Sabé was her figurative sword and shield. 

It was typically Moteé who had the most access into the Senator’s private dwelling. Over the last three or so years, the newer recruit, despite being notably younger, had become quite close to Lady Amidala and was frequently called upon for solo missions and assignments. She had even been called upon to act as a decoy from time to time, and such was typically reserved for Sabé or Cordé, before her untimely fall. It seemed that her individual role was something to do with ensuring the Senator’s personal maintenance, as both a housekeeper and a therapist. It was no secret that Moteé had some training in patient counselling, so it seemed appropriate for her to handle Her Ladyship when she felt less than her best.

She could only wonder as to the Senator’s current mental state, for her quarters were seemingly more dishevelled than expected. There were papers scattered all over the sitting room table, at least three empty drinking glasses within view, and perhaps most notably, a vase of near-dead flowers in the main dining area. Eirtaé swore she saw a deep burgundy petal fall before her eyes. All the clutter conveyed one thing to her; that the Senator was in far from a peaceful state of mind. She was unsure as to why.

Eirtaé didn’t like thinking about it much, but every now and then, her mind wandered back to when they were girls, and when she was the second favourite, under Amidala, to be Queen. There were times when she thought about the past, the invasion of Naboo, and everything her Queen had done to overcome each obstacle that came her way. She was truly remarkable at what she did. Although there were other moments, usually at night, when Eirtaé thought to herself if she could have done it better, and it made her blood boil with envy. If she was in the Senator’s shoes at present, would she be able to handle this situation with greater finesse? Or would she have been left crumbling under the pressure of it all, facing question after direct question about the fate of the Republic?

She acquired a bucket of cleaning supplies, albeit after searching three cupboards, and made her way towards the dining area. Hoping for all to be relatively clean, but expecting the worst, she tucked a few strands of golden blonde hair behind her ear and exhaled. It was better than she thought it would be, with only smatterings of dust adorning the furniture, rather than a visible layer of grime. Moteé had frequented the quarters a long while ago to maintain them, but the place hadn’t been completely abandoned, she thought. 

Other household chores helped to distract the handmaiden from her thoughts, but being alone for such a time made it hard. She would catch glimpses of herself in the mirror and picture herself dressed head to toe in the former Queen’s regalia. She discarded an empty bottle of Domaine de la Maison sur de Lac and thought about all the lavish state dinners and fancy galas she could have attended as the guest of honour. Of course, she had come to tolerate her existence as a handmaiden, and even like it most of the time, but losing to Amidala at fourteen was something that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her hopes and dreams for the future were shattered that day, and as much as she prided herself for helping as the Senator’s political advisor, it wasn’t quite the same.

The time came to gather the flowers from the table and dispose of them. They were millaflowers, Eirtaé realised, as she examined them more closely. Despite many of the dying petals barely clinging to the plant’s centre, the intensely sweet aroma of the flowers remained. After bringing her nose to the wilting bouquet, she felt better, as most people did when in contact with the plant. Millaflowers were said to be so powerful that, with enough present, they could soothe a rancor. 

For the Naboo, the deep red blooms had gained a lot of significance over the years. To exchange them meant that the giver and recipient had a trusting relationship, and also sought great pleasure from meeting. She wondered as to who could have sent them. Eirtaé couldn’t help but let curiosity get the better of her, and without meaning to, she found her slender fingers taking hold of the tiny card tied to the group of stalks.

_Forever counting the days until I see you again. All my love._

It was unsigned.

Eirtaé sighed. The Senator had everything. Certainly, no one ever sent _her_ flowers.

Into the rubbish they went.

She quickly washed her hands after that, so as to make sure that no sticky plant residue kept to her fingers. All of her cleaning up after the Senator was going to go to waste if she ended up getting pollen and sap everywhere. After making a conscious decision not to dwell on the flowers and the Senator’s undoubtedly fairytale love life, she continued to clean.

There were numerous times at which her curiosity piqued, and the blonde found herself having to show restraint. On a living room side table, there was a framed photograph of the Senator and a young Togruta girl who Eirtaé didn’t recognise. A handwritten note rested on the kitchen counter, the words ‘Call Obi-Wan’ written in impeccable high galactic, then crossed out with a single line. A note worthy for the trash, she thought. A much more interesting, albeit confusing piece of paper consisted of two lists of names; the left was predominantly male and the right female, with what Eirtaé believed to be a couple of gender-neutral names mixed into both. It didn’t rouse much interest in her, however, given that her own name was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there seemed to be a bold, red circle around the name ‘Leia’, which had also been underlined for emphasis. After tracing her fingers over it, she decided to leave that paper where it was, not daring to dispose of it. It appeared quite important, or at least ‘Leia’ did.

She turned swiftly upon noticing the chiming of the Senator’s comlink, and retracted her arm to her side. It rang a couple of times while Eirtaé pondered answering, for she and Moteé had traded duties for the day without prior approval, but she eventually conceded. Any matters that concerned the Senator had the potential to be very urgent.

A tiny, pale blue holographic figure of the Senator appeared before her, poised and immaculately dressed as always. Eirtaé swallowed, nervously brushing her palms against her thighs. She knew that she wasn’t where she ought to be, and awaited a stern questioning.

“My lady,” 

“Sabé,” she corrected, her eyes then narrowing as she looked the blonde handmaiden up and down, “Where’s Moteé?” 

“You’re not the only one who can trade places,” remarked Eirtaé, “She had an exam.”

She half-expected to hear a giggle leave Sabé’s lips, like they were in the private confines of their own quarters, but of course, her dear friend was on the job. To her surprise, she looked exceedingly worried. Although the brunette had confided in her that acting in the Senator’s place made her anxious at times, seeing this kind of fear in her eyes was most uncommon.

“It doesn’t matter,” she dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand, “I’m going to give you a set of instructions, and you need to follow them to the letter. Are we clear?”

Eirtaé nodded.

“Okay, but first, can we talk? What’s wrong?” She leaned closer to the bodyguard’s image, getting a better look at her downcast expression, and noting the forced control of her breathing. Perhaps it was her own thinking, but she wondered if Sabé was, for once, struggling to maintain her composure.

“I-” she hesitated, letting her hand clutch at her skirt before looking Eirtaé in the face, “There’s been an attack. A full-fledged assault towards the Republic and its allies. There was …” she paused, a look of disgust crossing her features, “a massacre at the Jedi Temple. It’s only logical that the Senator is targeted next. She has always been a great ally and friend to the Jedi, not to mention of great significance to the Republic.”

Despite usually having a witty reply up her sleeve, Eirtaé was rendered speechless.

The bodyguard cleared her throat and took a deep breath, “Now, do exactly as I tell you.”

The Senator was en route to Naboo with Rabé, who had managed to sneak her out of Coruscant at the first opportunity. They had departed quickly and travelled lightly as a result, with only minimal possessions and supplies aboard their starship. While it was well known that the Senator had a residence on their home planet, safety measures had to be taken now that the target on her head was seemingly bigger than ever. There was every chance that her home had been ransacked, or even destroyed, regardless of the fact that Naboo was generally considered a safe and peaceful planet. After all, the Jedi were considered peacemakers, and their safe haven had havoc wrought upon it, with even their children slaughtered like livestock.

Eirtaé was led by her colleague around the apartment, told exactly which cupboards to navigate to retrieve what was necessary to bring to Naboo. Dehydrated and canned foods were sought after, to keep in the event of another attack. Precious family heirlooms from the Senator’s grandmother were tucked away with utmost care. Sabé directed her to collect some other supplies, like communication devices and spare weapons kept for emergencies. The bodyguard’s voice was stern as she listed commands for Eirtaé to follow, but it seemed to waver slightly as she directed the blonde to a navy blue overnight bag.

“Don’t open the bag,” she urged, but the blonde had let intrigue get the better of her, and had already long since unfastened it.

Eirtaé slowly ran her hands along the inside of the bag, pulling out item after item to examine them. She barely blinked as she rummaged through the Senator’s personal toiletries and what appeared to be a set of night clothes. It was, however, the maternity pads, the cloth diapers, and the tiny, pastel-coloured jumpsuits that had the handmaiden most confused. She looked to Sabé’s holographic image and was met with a look of hostility.

“What did I _just_ say?!” the brunette was fuming, her flared nostrils and gritted teeth notable in her projection. 

Eirtaé figured that her colleague must have been alone, given how freely she was expressing her emotions, so she thought it an opportune time to talk.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked, holding up a pale yellow infant bodysuit, “Is the Senator…?”

“Any day now, but you didn’t hear it from me”, Sabé reluctantly confirmed, “You mustn’t tell anyone, understood? Not even the Senator herself. Now, put that away.”

“No, wait,” Eirtaé piped up, leaning closer to the commlink and staring down Sabé’s tiny blue projection “How come you knew about this and I didn’t?” She briefly glanced towards the floor before meeting the bodyguard’s gaze once again. “Who’s the father?! Is it General Kenobi?”

“I’m not discussing this with you,” she replied adamantly, seemingly eager to dismiss the subject.

“I don’t believe this!” Eirtaé was livid. Time and time again, she had been told that her ranking amongst the handmaidens was equal, yet here Sabé was knowing extra secrets about the Senator, and ordering her around like she was in charge. Perhaps she needed reminding that dressing like the Senator didn’t automatically give her such power.

“You’re not my superior, Sabé, so I insist that you stop acting like it.”

“I know” she calmly answered, “You and I are equals, so I simply expect you to take my word as seriously as you would take your own.” 

That kept her quiet for a while, and she obliged by refilling the overnight bag so that it looked previously untouched. Each article of clothing, baby and adult-sized, was folded meticulously and piled so as to be most space-effective, just like the Senator would have done. Eirtaé gathered the bag in her hands and moved it towards the front entrance, near the other possessions and utilities that she’d obtained from the apartment. Sabé looked satisfied, although her worried expression hadn’t faltered. She looked exhausted, like her mind was abuzz with fear.

“Dormé will be collecting you and Moteé shortly and transporting you both to Naboo. The supplies that you’ve gathered will prove useful if the Senator’s living quarters have compromised security. We can’t afford to take any chances.”

Eirtaé was still coming to terms with the seriousness of the situation. An attack on Coruscant seemed so strange, even during wartime. It had been left untouched for so many years, to the point where the idea of fleeing it to keep safe seemed surreal. She looked at the pile of belongings by the door, then at Sabé’s holographic projection, nodding towards it.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be staying here to defend the Republic,” replied the brunette, “diverting the offenders away from the Senator.”

“So you’ll come to Naboo later?” asked Eirtaé, tilting her head to one side.

“I…” Sabé let out a deep breath before speaking barely louder than a whisper, “I don’t think I’ll end up having the luxury.”

It took a moment for the blonde to process it, but she soon realised what her friend was implying. Despite having been on the front line in so many battles and returning home triumphant, Sabé believed that this was a fight from which she wouldn’t return.

“Don’t be like that-”

“Eirtaé, do you know how many people have died?” 

“That’s never stopped you before!” stressed the blonde, “Please tell me you’ve made travel arrangements for Naboo!” Her hands were starting to curl into fists. Too many bizarre things were happening after each other.

“Of course I have,” murmured Sabé, “I just want to be realistic. The Jedi have been trained in combat for longer than I have, and given the rate that they’re falling, what does that really say about my success?” She gave a weak smile before sighing. “Just focus your concerns on the Senator first, alright? You’ve already discovered that she’s in a pretty fragile state.”

“She’ll be in more of a fragile state if you got yourself killed!” Eirtaé was on the verge of shouting.

“We all know what my role is!”

There was silence.

The holographic bodyguard cleared her throat to bring ease to the tension in the air. 

“Is there-” she spoke meekly before pausing to swallow, “Is there any chance that you’ve had correspondence with General Skywalker?”

Eirtaé was surprised to hear such a question, and it showed in the widening of her pale blue eyes. Nobody had contacted her at all during the day, and she found herself wondering if someone should have. Not knowing if Sabé was expecting a particular answer, the blonde thought it best to be honest. She shook her head and kept a relatively blank expression, one that contrasted greatly to the one adorning her friend’s face. Sabé looked like she’d been hit by a speeder.

“Sabé?” she asked cautiously, aware that she was likely getting into another subject in which she had no business.

“It’s nothing,” she ended the conversation, her eyes closed and her head facing sideways, “Dormé shouldn’t be long. I’d suggest sitting tight and making sure your comlink is fully charged and operational, should you receive any further directions.” The brunette turned to Eirtaé once more and  
smiled weakly at her, “I’d best be off. If we don’t see each other again, know that you’re dear to me.”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

Eirtaé couldn’t believe what was happening. Even after cleaning the Senator’s apartment from top to toe, she wanted to trash it beyond recognition. She wanted to find the Sith Lord that had brought such chaos and destruction to Coruscant, and tear them limb from limb with her bare hands. She wanted to run to the Senate building and physically shake some sense into her, for she’d never been so outwardly frightened about such dismal survival chances. She wanted to find the Senator herself and scream until her lips fell off. Never in all her years as an aide had she felt so in the dark, so mistrusted, so inferior. 

Tiny, glimmering tears welled up in holographic Sabé’s eyes. Her voice sounded like it belonged to a frightened little girl, rather than a skilled mimic and fighter in her mid-twenties.

“Tell Padmé I love her.”

“What?! I-”

“I’ll see you later, Eirtaé,” she forced a smile, but it faded just as quickly as it appeared. “I think someone's coming.”

The holographic figure swiftly turned around, one hand raised defensively, while the other stealthily clutched to a miniature-sized blaster in her pocket. The transmission ended, the blue light disappearing and leaving a quiet, haunting darkness. The blonde clasped her hands in each other, not too sure as to how to pass the time.

Dormé was quick in her arrival. Both she and Moteé appeared outwardly calm, but it was their rushed speech and the fine tremors in their fingers that gave away their nervousness. Eirtaé made a conscious effort to keep her mouth closed, speaking only when spoken to, and doing only what was in the Senator’s best interest, meaning to get her belongings ready for transportation to Naboo. She tentatively passed the canned goods to Dormé, forgetting for a moment that she was capable of lifting heavy weights. There was no difficulty in getting some of the more fragile items adequately stored, and none in transporting those of greater density. The small starship had enough room to carry the three of them, and was proving to be a sufficient vessel to house the cargo as well. 

The last item to board the starship was the blue overnight bag, on which Eirtaé had been keeping an eye since her colleagues arrived at the apartment. She couldn’t risk anybody giving into curiosity like she had, and she certainly wasn’t up to explaining the situation if they did. It had to remain closed, and it had to remain closed. Of that, Eirtaé was certain. She moved towards the bag to carry it onto the ship, but was beaten to it by a slender brunette, her fingers white-knuckling around the thick band. 

_Moteé._

Her deep brown eyes met Eirtaé’s blue, and the look she gave her suggested that the bag was an extension of her very being. She seemed more protective of it than she thought possible. She had to know, thought the blonde, but she didn’t dare to risk it. Instead, she nodded towards her colleague before following her aboard the starship. It wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation now, or ever. If the Senator wanted to make her situation known when the supplies were needed, she would do so.

Once the cargo was secure and their restraints were fastened, the three were ready to depart. Eirtaé could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, heavy with uncertainty. All the while, her thoughts were in overdrive, pondering the war, their likelihood of safety on Naboo, and all the secrets of which she had no awareness. She felt a sheen of sweat gathering on her palms.

“Everything is going to be alright,” she quietly reassured herself as she fidgeted with her fingers, and Coruscant became all but a speck to view from the window.

_Soon there’ll be something to celebrate._


	5. Dormé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Discretion is advised for those who have recently suffered a loss.

“There we go,” Rabé’s soothing whisper cut through the tension in the air, “It looks perfect. The colour of the petals really goes with the trim on your dress.” She paused and swallowed heavily. A sigh. “I wish I could show you.” There was a noticeable waver in her voice. “I wish you could see it.”

Dormé didn’t have the heart to speak up; to say that their lady couldn’t hear her. After all, everybody coped with death in different ways. She wondered if, even now, Rabé was still experiencing some denial. It had been a few days since they’d heard the news. Deep down, however, she knew that the stylist was only talking herself through her job. Gossipping while fixing the Senator’s hair was one of her favourite pastimes. Now that the conversation was only ever going to be one-sided, she could imagine that Rabé was struggling. She watched on in silence as her friend delicately lifted her fingers from the late Senator’s curled, chestnut tresses. The last of many ivory-coloured flowers had been placed in her hair, spread about her resting pod to resemble an enchanting night sky. To think that they were preparing her for her funeral procession was surreal, and it was a concept that Dormé couldn’t fathom. Amidala had been an everlasting icon, a revolutionary unworthy of their time, and the most celebrated woman in Naboo. She had been far too young to die.

“I’ll be right back with your makeup,” she heard Rabé murmur to the Senator’s body, “I promise, you’ll be glowing.” After glancing back longingly for a moment, she retreated to one of the Naberrie house’s guest bedrooms, in which she had stored her cosmetics.

She had kept her distance from the pod since it arrived, and Dormé felt disappointed in herself for doing so. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was afraid to come closer. She wanted to wait for Rabé to finish, for the Senator to look more alive, closer to the vivacious dear friend she knew. To see her any other way would break her heart. It was easier to hide from her in the early stages, but now she was being readied for the public eye one last time, and she needed to fulfil her final duties a handmaiden to her Queen. Her holographic projection would be a beacon amongst the dark main street of Theed while her body was laid to rest elsewhere. Padmé would have done the same for her. 

Everybody seemed to be handling the situation differently. The Senator’s older sister, Sola, was doing most of the talking. She could be picked as a mother from a million parsecs away, just from the way she was so calm, able to delegate tasks, and perhaps most importantly, how she could say the right things despite being so distraught herself. The children, Ryoo and Pooja, were sat cross-legged on the plush living room carpet, playing word association games and talking about the stars. They seemed to be in a much better headspace, and for that, Dormé was mildly envious. Although, she supposed that she could have been handling things much worse. The fact that she could maintain her composure was a blessing in a way.

Despite her and fellow handmaidens being such a tight knit group with so many traits and mannerisms in common, they were quite different and apart today. Each of them was trying to process the Senator’s death in their own way, and were at various stages of doing so. Eirtaé was in talks with Sola about will preparation and division of the assets. Her mind was on the future, and she raised questions about what ought to become of her and her maiden sisters, now that such a large chapter of their lives had come to an abrupt close. There was an empty wine glass where she stood. She had been quite fidgety before. It was nice to no longer hear the incessant drumming of her fingers against the hard timber dining table, but Dormé could only wonder as to how the blonde was really feeling. Even at the most frightening of times, she had nerves of steel.

Moteé seemed to be in a constant state of hovering. She alternated between engaging with the children, to assisting Rabé, to forwarding messages on her commlink, among other things. She had slight bags under her eyes, but Rabé had done a decent job at masking them with concealer. After all, once it was time for the procession, their entire cohort had to look their very best, standing tall and taking a final proud march for their lady. She caught sight of Moteé entering the main living area, a textbook tucked under one arm, and a full glass of water in her free hand. Their eyes met. Moteé shrugged and shook her head, defeated. Dormé watched on as she emptied her hands and went to stand by the funeral pod, giving Rabé positive comments about her creativity.

By far and away, Sabé was the worst. An inconsolable mess, she hadn’t left the Senator’s childhood bedroom in over eight hours. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying. Her voice was raspy and her throat was sore from screaming. The others, Moteé most recently, had been taking turns in trying to coax her out, encouraging her to at least eat something, but to no avail. It seemed that after countless battles on the front line of Amidala’s defence, the warrior had collapsed, thwarted and broken-hearted. She could only muster one look at Padmé in her funeral pod before retreating indefinitely. It was too much for her to bear, Dormé supposed. She blamed herself. She supposed they all did, to an extent.

The events that took place on Coruscant were unbelievable, unforeseeable and tragic. Nobody could have predicted the unveiling of Chancellor Palpatine as a Sith Lord, nor his plans to overthrow the Galactic Republic and form a twisted empire of his own. The mass slaughter of the Jedi came as a disturbing shock, to the point where even recalling it made the handmaiden sick to her stomach. She glanced towards Rabé and Moteé fussing over the pod in the distance, thinking that there should have been more people present. Kenobi and Skywalker should have been there. So should the Togruta girl that used to visit, Padawan Tano. She recalled the Senator being quite fond of her. The three of them were surely dead, along with everyone else who would have been welcomed to the viewing with open arms. Of course, there was one exception. Senator Organa and his wife sent their condolences but, for reasons unknown, had to rush home to Alderaan. It led Dormé to wonder if they were the Empire’s next targets.  
She blinked out of her thoughts as Rabé approached her. Each of the handmaidens donned the same flowing black gown, with iridescent golden detail at the hood and lower skirt. From afar, the stylist appeared to float like a dark cloud, positively gliding as she went about her duties to the late Senator. Although, up close, the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes were much more visible.

“Still no luck with Sabé?” she asked, clearly stressed.

“No,” answered Dormé, remembering the exasperated look on Moteé’s face, “We’ll have to drag her out.” She sighed and glanced towards an ornate grandfather clock that stood against a far wall. “It’ll be time to leave before we know it.”

“I need to redo her makeup,” Rabé continued, “She’s supposedly done her own, but I’ll be anxious all evening until I know it matches everyone else’s.” 

“I know. You’re a perfectionist.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, Dormé would have sworn that her friend’s lips twitched upwards. Rabé always produced impeccable work, and was a stellar marksman in combat. Her dedication towards being the best woman she could be in all assets of her life was a trademark of sorts. It was admirable, to say the least. 

Dormé pursed her lips for a moment before exhaling deeply through flared nostrils. She would give her distressed handmaiden sister a few minutes to recover from her last approach, then would venture into the bedroom herself. As a collective, they were running out of ways to get Sabé outside, short of using brute force. However, Dormé liked to think that she had a unique idea up her sleeve.

She knocked on the door tentatively before edging inside, met with a hostile stare. The usually fearsome warrior didn’t look so terrifying given her expression. Perched atop the Senator’s childhood bed, Sabé looked akin to a frightened schoolgirl, or a pet that had been caught acting out of line. Her back was hunched, her slender legs curled so that her knees were huddled to her chest. She had indeed attempted her own makeup, but it had since become smudged, especially around her eyes. Streams of mascara ran down her damp cheeks. 

“Hey,”

Sabé’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s alright. It’s me. It’s Dormé. Can I sit with you?”

“ _Get out_ ,” she ordered through gritted teeth.

Dormé inhaled, and she felt herself lean backwards. She wondered if her friend had the slightest idea of how long she’d hidden away. The sun had set in the time that passed. The sky was dark and the air had gone cold. Crowds were beginning to gather in the city’s main street. The procession wasn’t far away at all.

Instead of cowering and stepping outside, which she could have very easily done, Dormé stood her ground.

“No.”

“ _Out! Leave me alone!_ ” she was on the verge of tears again, as could be told by the wavering of her voice. 

She was worried about being physically struck by the former bodyguard, but continued to advance towards the bed nonetheless. Making an effort to not cause a stir, Dormé sat right at the edge of the bed, as far from the crying woman as she could be.

“I’m not going to make you do anything right now, Sabé. I have to make a call,” she began calmly, ”and this is the quietest room in the house.” She reached into a pocket of her funeral robes and pulled out a small commlink. Feeling an annoyed stare on her as she sifted through the list of contacts, she looked at the other woman once more. “I’ll try not to be long.” 

She secretly hoped that overhearing the conversation would prove good for Sabé. She had called the late Senator her best friend a number of times, but so had Senator Organa. Dormé hoped that her inconsolable friend would eavesdrop a little, and that the ever-so-wise politician could soothe her with words the other handmaidens had struggled to find.

For a moment, the room remained strangely silent aside from a few rings coming from the device. The image that appeared was not the one Dormé had anticipated. A hooded figure answered the call, and the fact that his beard was full and lighter in shade suggested that he certainly wasn’t who she expected to see. Her body went rigid in fear, for she could only think of what must have gone wrong. Had the Senator’s commlink been compromised? Was he alive and safe? Or was the Empire taking control of entire planets and systems faster than what was foreseen?

“This is Dormé on behalf of the late Senator Padmé Amidala, requesting counsel with Senator Organa.” She made an effort to sound as calm as she could. In times like this, to show fear was unacceptable.

The holographic man before her removed his hood, but he only faced the ground. She was dumbfounded upon recognising him, but was also overcome with relief.

“General Kenobi,” she spoke as if she was running out of breath, “You’re alive.”

Kenobi looked squarely towards her for a moment, his blue eyes tired and the worry lines prominent on his forehead. He looked like he was about to say something, but decided against it. His gaze flickered downwards once more.

“Living, yes,” he murmured, “Alive…?” There was a pause. “If you wish to speak to Senator Organa his hands are… a little _full_ at the moment.” Kenobi turned to watch something happening behind him for a moment, then focused his attention to Dormé again.

“So you're with him? Have you travelled safely to Alderaan?” She was leaning forward, the desperation clear in her demeanour. 

He attempted a thin smile, but it was not convincing. The Jedi looked as though he was about to collapse with exhaustion, both physically and mentally drained of energy. Dormé could only imagine the turmoil he’d endured, even though she had only recently lost a dear friend herself. General Kenobi had lost so much more than that. He had lost his home, his family, and his way of life. Even still, it looked like he was trying to be the peacekeeper, assuring those around him that he was alright, that he would push on despite the circumstances. 

“You need not worry about us, young one. I understand you have a lot to organise.” He exhaled. “I truly wish I could be there. Padmé was an extraordinary woman.” 

“She was,” Dormé whispered in response. Using the past tense to describe the late Senator still felt unnatural.

She looked downwards at her interlocked fingers, her thumbs twiddling as she contemplated the state of the galaxy. In such a short amount of time, everything she had come to know was in a shambles. The planet on which she grew up was in a state of chaos. The Galactic Republic had been overthrown, the senate collapsed. The woman she had vowed to serve until her dying day was gone herself. She was speaking to a man who could have well been the last of the Jedi, renowned across the galaxy as a group who sought only to protect the innocent. They had no protection now.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Dormé perked up, her body at full attention as she expected somebody to come inside. On the contrast, Sabé huffed and pulled her knees closer to her chest. The holographic figure of Kenobi tentatively reached for his hood.

“Dormé,” came a voice from beyond the door. It sounded like Eirtaé, her voice crisp and unyielding, “Sola wants to speak with you.”

Her eyes moved from the door to Kenobi’s projection, then back to the door once again. It truly was a stressful day, and she felt as if she had so many places to be, so many roles to fulfil, and so many tasks to complete.

“I’ll be there soon,” she called out in response before addressing her conversation with the Jedi. “I suppose I should be going,” the handmaiden regretfully murmured. “Thank you for taking the time to ease my conscience. I’m sure Padmé would know that your thoughts are with her.”

“It’s a tragedy that she’s not still with us,” Kenobi responded. 

Dormé nodded solemnly, attempting to fight back tears. She knew that Rabé would have her head if she had to redo her makeup as well. She glanced upon the commlink in her hand, preparing herself to end the call.

“Alright, then. Stay safe, General Kenobi-”

“Wait!”

She turned abruptly to her right to see Sabé sitting upright, her legs uncurled and her feet flat on the ground. Her previously hostile expression was gone, instead replaced with one of longing. One hand was tightly clutching the fabric of her funeral robes, while the other white-knuckled a small, unseeable object.

Dormé raised her brow. Even Kenobi seemed taken aback by the sudden exclamation.

“I want to speak to him, too.”

“What’s that?” she seemed to ignore her friend’s request, “What are you holding?”

Sabé pursed her lips and shyly looked towards her lap. Her grip loosened, allowing what she held to be seen more clearly. Dormé couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a bracelet, or if the trinket had another purpose. All she could see was the carved ivory and beige pendant that hung from it, and wonder from where it had come.

“Padmé used to hold this when she was scared.”

She then went on to explain that before being called forth from the senate building on Coruscant, Sabé gathered as many personal belongings as she could, anticipating that her work quarters were going to be raided. She didn’t have enough time to retrieve everything, but managed to tuck away a few smaller items. The chain was kept within arm’s reach, in the top drawer underneath the late Senator’s desk. 

“May I speak with General Kenobi, please?” Sabé sounded a lot kinder than she did before, possibly due to the fact that they had company, “Relax; I won’t say anything bad about you. You can leave.” 

Dormé felt a bit wary about leaving her alone once more, even though she technically had General Kenobi to keep an eye on her for now. Still, she couldn’t deny that there had been an improvement. In the time since she had made herself welcome in the bedroom, Sabé had sat up straight, was talking in sentences that weren’t just orders, and had even attempted to wipe the mascara stains from her cheeks. With that in mind, she left, anticipating Sola to be nearby with either instructions or a favour to ask. However, when she saw that Sola was otherwise engaged, she took it upon herself to keep checking on Sabé, albeit from behind a closed door. Making sure not to draw too much attention to herself, she gently eased her ear to the wood until it was pressed closely to it. She could hear snippets of the conversation that was going on inside.

“I just feel like I could have done more, I-” Sabé was rambling, pausing to sniffle a running nose, “She had so much more to live for than I do.”

Dormé sighed pitifully, knowing that the other handmaiden was in tears yet again.

“... and I knew about General Skywalker, and I knew about the baby, and I- I would have _died_ to protect her if she asked me to, no questions asked! I would have!” 

It took all of Dormé’s restraint to not barge inside right there and then, for a thousand questions had suddenly formed on the tip of her tongue. There was a baby? Senator Amidala’s baby? She removed her ear from the door and fervently looked around the hallway, then peeked her head into the general living area, all with the objective of finding the elusive infant. She couldn’t help but think that the baby was being rather quiet, given that it should have woke for food or changing several times by now. 

That was when her stomach sank and she realised that the baby was dead.

As for Skywalker, she wasn’t surprised. She had once suspected that the two were especially close, but never summed up the courage to ask. That was years ago. Never had she expected their relationship to last for so long. There must have been some things about the late Senator that she didn’t know, at least not for certain.

Backing away from the door, she decided that she had heard enough of Sabé’s heartbreaking bargaining. She could only hope that Kenobi would talk some sense into her, and help her to realise that as much as she was willing to have taken their lady’s place and join the dead, nothing could be done to change it now. They were only words. Perhaps after that realisation, Rabé would finally be able to enhance her makeup so it didn’t look like she’d been in the rain. The procession could continue on as planned.

With that in mind, Dormé supposed that she ought to take a final look at the late Senator before she was laid to rest. As nervous as she was about what she’d see, she knew that she would regret it if she stayed away. Despite having internally accused Rabé and a few others of being in denial of the situation, Dormé almost refused to believe that she was in denial herself. She didn’t want to think of the Senator as dead. She couldn’t bear to accept it as part of her reality. Too much was happening too quickly, and the presence of Senator Amidala had always been calming, and it confirmed that she and her planet were in safe hands. Now, there was only uncertainty, and she hated to think about it.

Even in death, the late Senator was exquisite. Rabé had done an incredible job of bringing a healthy hue to her skin and rosy warm tones to her cheeks so that she looked akin to a sleeping angel. After years at the forefront of the political scene, relentlessly involved in debates, negotiations and physical battles for the safety of Naboo, she finally looked at ease. Dormé wasn’t sure of what to expect, with the last funeral she attended having been Cordé’s, and she had not been dressed so elaborately. The layers of cobalt and teal she adorned reminded her of clear water, and the tranquil lake country of Naboo, from where the late Senator came. She should have retired there after a long and influential career. Her hands were folded over her stomach, a prominent baby bump that would be showcased to the masses for the first time. Even Dormé had not seen it until now.

She peered inside the moment before leaning forward, pressing her lips to the late Senator’s cold forehead. A shiver went down her spine, and she willed herself not to cry. Instead, her breaths became shallow and her pulse grew faster as she came to terms with everything around her being real.

“Goodbye, my lady,” she whispered into the late Senator’s ear, “Thank you for your guidance, your kindness and compassion. Naboo is a darker place without you. May you be at peace.”

“That was beautiful.”

Moteé had been standing by the pod for quite some time, and appeared to be deep in thought. She seemed to be staring at the pronounced bump as well.

“Did you know?” asked Dormé.

“Know what?” 

“That she was pregnant.”

Moteé hesitated. 

“Yes.” Her answer was meek.

“I see.” 

Now was not the time to delve further, Dormé thought. To do so and argue would have been disrespectful. It all had to be due to Moteé’s academic background and her passion for healing, she convinced herself. There was no way that they didn’t all share an equally close bond with the late Senator. Now was a time of mourning, of togetherness, and expressing love to those around them in such dire circumstances. She was not going to pry. There would be a time and a place to discuss matters like these. Instead, the two remained silent, the tension in the air almost palpable until it was suddenly broken.

“Have you seen Rabé?” 

Sabé had approached her so quietly that it caused her whole body to stiffen. She certainly hadn’t expected to see her fellow handmaiden, standing upright and in the living area for the first time since the sun had been down. Two black stripes still trailed from her eyes to her cheeks, but her expression looked somewhat more lively. Dormé wanted to comment on how nice it was to see her up and about, but worried about provoking her in such a fragile state. Still, seeing her improve was enough to make a thin smile bloom from her lips. General Kenobi was surely very talented with words.

“Hello?” the bodyguard asked after tapping Dormé’s shoulder, “I need to see Rabé … for my makeup,” she added with a shrug.

“I think so,” she responded, “As much as you can pull off any look, we do all need to look the same.”

Sabé chuckled. A miracle.

“Did you have a nice chat with General Kenobi?” she found herself asking, as much as she didn’t want to intrude on personal matters. Dormé covered her mouth as soon as the sentence escaped her lips, her regret evident just after she spoke.

“Actually, I did,” answered Sabé, “Senator Organa’s requested my presence on Alderaan. He and his wife have adopted a baby girl, and in the wake of all that’s going on, she’ll be needing a protector for a while.”

Dormé nibbled on her bottom lip, not sure how to respond. It was bittersweet, in a way. Sabé would have watched over and loved Senator Amidala’s baby as if it was her own, had the galaxy not been overcome with such tragedy. 

“A job that you’re most definitely suited for,” she settled with that as her comment.

“I’d like to think so,” mused Sabé, “Apparently, they couldn’t think of anyone better to look after Princess Leia of Alderaan.” She almost sounded proud of herself.

Dormé could have sworn that she saw Eirtaé make a face as she and Rabé approached them, as if she’d misplaced something, or was doing complicated algebra in her head. 

“It’s temporary, but it’s something until I find my feet.” It was the most optimistic Sabé had sounded all day.

“Look who decided to join us,” teased Rabé as she threw her arms around Sabé’s shoulders, “Let’s get you done up.” 

Almost as quickly as she appeared, the stylist had whisked her handmaiden sister away to work her creative magic, leaving Dormé, Moteé, and Eirtaé alone with their thoughts. Each of them shared parting words with the late Senator, telling her how wonderful she had been, and occasionally reaching out to her cold fingers. It was as if they had all silently vowed to keep the matter of her pregnancy quiet, not game enough to raise the subject due to fear of offence or scandal. Instead, they just cast their eyes to the late Senator’s prominent stomach on occasion, taking a moment to acknowledge that they were mourning the abrupt end of two lives, not just one.

It wasn’t long until Sabé re-emerged, refreshed, with a satisfied looking Rabé in tow. They joined the others in a huddle around the funeral pod, with the bodyguard approaching Moteé’s left side. She was still tightly grasping the trinket from before, Dormé noticed as she watched the other woman reached to intertwine it with the late Senator’s folded hands.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Padmé. I love you. I’ll always love you,” She leant back slightly after she was content that the chain wouldn’t fall away from her fingers. 

“Here, to keep you safe,” she murmured.

“What’s that?” Moteé asked quietly so that Dormé could barely hear.

“It’s Anakin’s,” whispered Sabé. 

A pause. 

“I think she’d like that.” 

Her hands now free, Sabé clasped tightly onto those of the women beside her, and it wasn’t long before Dormé found herself in the chain. With one hand holding Moteé, and the other holding Eirtaé, she felt more united with her handmaiden sisters now than she had in recent times. She had known many of these women for nine years, since her induction for the then Queen’s second term, and they had become like family. There was no doubt that this was a loss they would overcome together.

“Ladies,” quietly called Sola as she entered the living area, “It’s time.”

Dormé released a breath that she didn’t know she held. The funeral pod was to be sealed shut in preparation for its trip to the lake country, where the late Senator would be entombed. In the meantime, the people of Naboo were waiting, lining the streets of Theed in black robes, wielding candles and sharing the burden of their despair. Their beloved Amidala was to take a final tour of the city to which she brought such change and joy, the projection of her body luminous amongst a realm so shrouded by darkness and grief.

One by one, they looked themselves over in the Naberrie house’s entrance hall mirror, ensuring that they were representing their lady in the best possible way. There was more hand holding and heartfelt embraces as they shuffled outside. They mentally prepared themselves to be unveiled to the crowd, which comprised of mourning, patriotic citizens of Naboo. They formed a line behind the pod and waited for cues that indicated the start of the procession. Dormé needed not to look at her sisters as they slowly travelled their path. They were guiding each other in spirit, sending messages of love and encouragement to keep going, as much as they all wanted to cry and fall to their feet.

The Royal Handmaidens of Naboo were banded together one last time in honour of their lady, the late Queen turned Senator Amidala, and remained strong. Selected not just for their appearances, but for their intelligence and wit, for their physical stamina and combat expertise, each maiden was a formidable weapon in her own right. They were taught to fight passionately for their rights, and to never back down following a loss. Dormé was comforted to know that she belonged to a family of women so strong in character, so resilient and brave. She knew that as long as they were together, as long as they remained defiant in the face of adversity, the legacy of Amidala would shine brightly for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope that you enjoyed this piece. Thank you all for your time and kind words.  
> xo


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